


Internet Safety Protocol

by Bodldops



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodldops/pseuds/Bodldops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane is quite impressive in how he picks up how the modern world works... but in some things, he really could have used a little help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Internet Safety Protocol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thischarmingmutant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thischarmingmutant/gifts).



There are ads plastered all over the screen again. Abbie is pretty sure her computer’s adware is current, the IT guys would pitch a fit if it wasn't. Somehow, despite this, Ichabod seems to attract the most… interesting internet pop-up ads imaginable every time he uses it. it wasn't Ichabod doing it, she wouldn't believe the protests of innocence nearly as much as she does. It's almost inconceivable that anyone could be _that_ prone to collecting stray pop-up ads. If She has to hand it to him though – even though his first attempt at using a computer was a disaster in almost every sense of the word, he’s kept at it. She wants to believe it’s because he’s still making a concerted effort to integrate into the modern age… though sometimes she suspects it’s so he can find new things to exclaim over. 

Ichabod is spending the day re-acquainting himself with the town (and she’s sure, she’s so sure, she’s going to end up getting a call about this before the end of the day), and her sister has… gone where-ever it is she goes when she drops off the radar, leaving her entirely at loose ends. She’s taken herself to the local coffee shop, to enjoy a good drink and the free wi-fi away from the unsettled politics of the office. Industriously, she sets about removing the ads, though she makes sure to take screenshots of the particularly horrible ones to tease him about later. 

That’s when she finds it. He must have forgotten to shut it down (or forgot that it needed to be shut down) when the ads attacked. The set-up is pretty basic, but he writes just like he speaks. Besides, the heading leaves no room for doubt.

_Dearest Katrina,  
It has been three months since I awoke in the cave sanctuary in this foreign time. Today, I shall endeavor to discover what may be left that is familiar in these lands – it is odd, the juxtaposition of the familiar and the almost incomprehensibly strange in my surroundings. Alas, those that oppose us never seem to find this a hindrance. Also, I will attempt to find more of the ‘dough-nut wholes’ which Miss Mills has introduced me to – the tax may be exorbitant, but the appeal is clear despite the price._

It was a journal. Clearly in Ichabod's voice, it was a journal entry on one of one of those websites that you could personalize and share your thoughts with the world… and _Ichabod Crane_ had an online journal. She knows what she should do now. She should log out, shut the whole thing down, and never say anything about it again.

No one has ever said that Abbie Mills isn’t a very curious lady. 

She hits ‘previous post’. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later, her latte is cold, and her knowledge about the thought process of her unconventional partner certainly has been… broadened, to say the least. She always thought that he was putting her on a little, with his impromptu rants about the rate of taxes or gun rights or the unholiness of energy drinks. Turns out that’s… pretty much exactly how he thinks. If anything, he’s being _discrete_ , which is a bit disturbing really, considering how disruptive he can be just being himself. 

Also, she has discovered (or perhaps it was just a heavy reminder) that while her partner can be frustrating, bewildering, annoying, and the biggest weird-thing magnet she’s ever seen, he also has an almost boundless enthusiasm for the new and unexplored. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. He’s managed to master more of this time’s gizmos and gadgets than he has any right to. There’s already thirty entries in this journal, for example – which is both impressive, and raises the question of exactly _how_ many times he’s made off with her computer.

There is, however, a problem that he’s failed to consider.

His journal is not in any way made private. In fact, it seems that he’s garnered a bit of a following – not that anyone thinks he’s telling the truth (or, at least, anyone who is tagging the entries – there could be some… not-so-wholesome readers out there lurking). The most popular theory seems to be that Ichabod is some sort of history professor (true) or history university student (once true) who is doing this as some sort of project to explore the difference between past and present. 

Her phone buzzes with a text from the office – it seems Ichabod has arrived, and the captain wants her to take possession of her wayward partner again. Well. No time like the present to address this.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dough-nut, Miss Mills?” Ichabod asks with a studied sort of innocence – it has to be studied, she refuses to believe _anyone_ can pull off that expression on accident. She takes a doughnut hole regardless – the only thing pointing out how much he paid for these would be to discourage further doughnuts in the future. 

“Enjoy your day out?” She asks, with a returned innocence, and evidently her expression of innocence isn’t terribly convincing either – he’s giving her a side-long wary look that that speaks of how he suspects her of being up to something. He nods, slowly.

“Find anything familiar in these lands?” She adds, and sits back to watch the flood of emotions chase themselves across his face – alarm, consternation, anger, and embarrassment in quick succession appear and fade away, his expression settling on stern.

“Miss Mills, while I am sure things may be different now, in my time a personal journal was meant to be that – private. One did not intrude on the thoughts of friends.” He lectures. She raises an eyebrow in return, refusing to give ground (even though she probably shouldn’t have read _all_ of the entries).

“Were journals instantly readable across the world in your time as well?” That brings him up short in a hurry and she’ll admit it – she enjoys the dumbfounded look on his face. “You have quite the following in Germany.” It takes showing him how to read the tags posted in response to his entries to prove it to him – and then another hour to explain chat-speak and how ‘rly’ and ‘lol’ can be words to some people in the world. 

He clearly finds it easier to believe the former than the latter, in the end.


End file.
